


The Warlock, The Brownie, and The Occasional Tears Inbetween

by Forest_Awakens



Series: Wild's Magic Shop [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Ezlo is grandpa, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Minish - Freeform, One Shot, Wild's Magic Shop AU, homeboy four and homeboy ezlo just want to sleep, misuse of folklore, no beta we edit ourselves like cowards, time is breifly mentioned if you really look for it, tiny bros - Freeform, wowie its actually edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_Awakens/pseuds/Forest_Awakens
Summary: A little brownie whose lived a long life meets the warlock whose lived an even longer one, guess its tie for them to both start a new adventure.ALTERNITIVLY:The life of Four, the brownie living with the previous owner of the magic shop.
Series: Wild's Magic Shop [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647109
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	The Warlock, The Brownie, and The Occasional Tears Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> Warning theres blood going on in the first few thingies as well as a major character death. Stay safe. love ya :)
> 
> Also im so sorry ezlo. This takes place before Wild moves in. Be warned this is all a massive headcannon because why not.  
> Yo check out wild's magic shop on tumblr! they got link's. also yall in the discord server are amazing people, this is a callout to how amazing yall are

He found it there, on the window sill. The creature was a small and bloodied thing, shivering like the earth itself was about to end. Perhaps it had for this one.  
Rain beat down on him in the raging storm. A mangled feather tail hung from him, limp to the world and so stained it blended into the small pool of blood. It would've been bright and defining, he thought for a moment, had the little one not been hurt. A shining beacon of perhaps magic, perhaps dignity, now destroyed.  
Bright blonde and warmly freckled, a picture of what he could only guess to be a child, made him smile a tad. A moment he remembered an old life caring for his own ward.  
But the moment was gone in a flash and he huffed the creature away for panic and worry to replace everything, scooping the little creature into his hands and bringing him inside.  
In front of the warmth of the small brick fireplace, he wrapped the cuts the best he could with gentle hands worn from years of magic. A mangled leg and arm and a few gashes from what seemed to be talons clutched his shoulders and curled around his arms. The old shield on the wall kept glinting and shining beams of light into his eye making him wince and grunt in frustration. He didn't dare move the old thing though.  
The little creature looked like a mummy from one of those cheap horror movies he both loved and despised, bandages a stark white as he carefully placed the little guy on the lone shelf overlooking his bedroom, nestled into his old ward's scarf and hat. He wouldn't need them anymore anyways.  
He kept the lights as dim as possible as he periodically checked on it. With many a huff of both exasperation and worry he'd continuously plop himself into the worn leather chair as he waited for the sky to clear so he could watch the stars and calm his racing nerves.  
He turned to the little guy’s little hat--perhaps a red, though he decided he wasn't able to really tell like with the tail--which was ripped to no end. Broken freedom, honor destroyed, a tale he didn't know and perhaps wouldn't wish to find out. The old warlock tried to fix it as best he could which is to say it looked mucked up. The sewing skills he had were born out of a need after all, rather than love for the craft. So he made due.  
Storms still waged overhead as the night waned into morning much to the man's growing annoyance and worry. Chills entered the home. Drafts wept and made his tired bones and weary injuries creak. The little creature slept for so long, or appeared to sleep as he gave the occasional terrified squeak or sob from terrible dreams one could only assume plagued his mind.  
The man could only look onto it and guess what he had taken in. Fae? Spirit? Curse? He had the faintest of clues.  
That is until he disappeared and the old man truly realized what was beginning this new journey with him.  
Small tracks in what little dust he could find showed where he had been or in some cases was. He had, at first, panicked and yelled how he'd lost another child but a button he had lost from an old green cloak hit him in the shoulder. Whether he laughed from his own squawk of indignity, panic, or the spite of the little brownie was beyond him.  
A collection of small golden coins appeared, some from other countries and a few rusted over. They appeared in the old pair of walking shoes he'd often forgotten he'd owned. The lens of his telescope remained polished much to his delight, and the little notes were always taped filled with small jokes in surprisingly neat font.  
He was a sweet little thing, the old man decided. Neither a curse or a fairy, but something else entirely perhaps. His sense of routine was broken and reformed time and time again between running his research and making sure the little one was settled in. The shelf grew to be his home, a little ceramic dish for food and another for milk as the warlock vaguely remembered reading his kind enjoyed. Things were cleaner and neater than he could ever remember and he found company in his little home.  
-=+=-  
Turns out the little buddy loved the cheap horror movies he despised so. His favorite activity was to steal the remote--how he held it was beyond any magic the warlock knew--and would turn the channel away from the dumb nature documentaries he'd taken to falling asleep to. Instead the man suffered through long nights of cheesy Hollywood movies that failed on so many attempted opening nights.  
Fake screams and cheesy gore and even cheesier popcorn because the little buddy had terrible taste filled his dreams. Still it warmed the man's heart when the little creature became captivated by the stories, curled on his little perch on the coffee table, utterly engulfed in the thin scarf he’d bought off one of the little old ladies who ran the local magic creatures shop.  
Pranks seemed to stem from this horror movie love, an appreciation of effects led to many a days of the old man being covered in fake blood a variety of consistencies. The brownie seemed to also develop acting abilities that quite impressed him.  
To distract the brownie he just kinda stopped cleaning up certain places in hopes of containing the pranks to those areas.  
He was wrong.  
If he didn't have a mess to clean he'd just make one in these newly defined areas.  
It was decided they'd compromise away from horror movies and to shitty reality tv--that neither liked but they were to far invested in one chick's marriage so how could they possibly stop-- and hockey.  
He didn't even like hockey but the little brownie absolutely adored it. Soon the two became--rather begrudgingly on his part--huge fans of the Raging Ritos, if only for the fact that the colors on their uniforms were so utterly atrocious that they made the other teams look like it was the red carpet, but you know, with sweaty buff men sometimes covered in feathers or scales.  
Nights seemed to blend together during championships. Yelling occurred as they cheered loudly and had the neighbors complaining in the morning. The little creature would chatter endlessly in his own language. Forgotten in his excitement to switch so the old man could respond properly. But he still understood.  
The pranks still happened, but with less blood and more a rogue vacuum and absurd amount of feathers, which were much easier to clean up surprisingly enough. He'd huff a laugh and humor the kid, squawking his own words to berate him but always making sure to give him a soft poke in return to send him stumbling with squeals of laughter. Of course they never really minded, it meant an unpredictable routine and break from memories.  
Let kids be kids, he'd think. After all, he'd learned that lesson the hard way.  
-=+==-  
Together they started to grow a willow tree. The little sapling had been dying from something or another in the old farm nearby run the nice redhead lady who never seemed to grow older. She had happily given it away upon hearing he was hoping to save it.  
The little creature practiced his magic on it, the man helping where he could, giving instruction and a proud look as the little sapling grew among the wildflowers he had never bothered to get rid of.  
Sometimes a fairy would visit his friend, a tiny thing that was scared of the man but still unbelievably kind from the small smiles and berating words he let out when healing the man's occasional injury from one magical backfire or another.  
The fairy often fluttered through the ceiling and shelves in search of the brownie, only to disappear for a moment behind a book and return zipping out at lightning speed, clutching the little brownie under the arms who would in turn squeal and kick his legs wildly in panic at the sudden height.  
But still light laughter would float after them as he scoured through books. Small giggles and a flutter of warmth through his heart as they joked and played at the edges of his views. In truth he was touched they allowed themselves to be seen so freely.  
The little fairy began watching hockey with them when he wasn't feeling so skittish. Laughter and cheers became louder as the Raging Ritos reached the Linkly Cup Finale. Their loss led to heartbroken sobs from the brownie that he could never tell if they were real or not and a frustrated bout of magic lightning as well as a few creative curses on his own part.  
But he'd laugh it off in the end as the brownie would begin chasing the fairy in their own playful version of tag and the man would begin his studies again, watching the stars and waiting for the fairy to leave so the brownie could curl up on the leather chair for a time like was their nightly tradition.  
Sometimes he'd find the little creature crying and he'd be reminded just how young he seemed. Small sobs would rack his body and what was left of his slowly healing tail would curl around himself, now a warm white tipped in bright red as it should've been. He’d clutch his head when the sobs got too much, screaming and crying and letting out mournful shrieks. The warlock would coax him to lay in his hand, softly humming in between when he'd describe the stars outside.  
He'd tell stories of them until he'd tire himself out and the creature would huff and calm down significantly to tell him in a shaky voice of other constellations the man could never dream of knowing. Stories of terrible monsters filled the air; evil mages that made him flinch in memory and of swords and stones and shadows that danced with the light on a full moon, laughing away the sadness that tore at their hearts before they lost each other again.  
He was entranced by this, curious to the world the little creature knew. Stories spun of things he could barely begin to dream of slowly ran out and their thoughts of stars drifted through space to planets they would create together, made up from odd dreams and the strange folk that came to the warlock for help with their magical woes.  
Together they'd laugh into the night, the brownie still flashing and broken but smiling and content with the world.  
The little thing wasn't whole anymore, he could tell. A shattered soul so bright and sad it pained him. Lost to time and space but eternally here and grounded by forces he couldn't begin to comprehend. But the adventures of others were not his business, nor was the lack of the creature's name or the tears that ran down its face. After all, the creature never questioned his spells or work or the strange air the basement seemed to hold even if the man questioned such things himself.  
-=+=-  
Besides his soul, the hat fell apart as well. Sloppy seams giving away as he shed tears when it was ruined, hiding behind bottles of potions until the old man coaxed him out. It was thinning and ratty, barely a scrap of fabric for even the smallest brownie to be able to use.  
“It means I can't be free anymore,” He whispered, clutching the man’s thumb.  
“A hat does not dictate your freedom,” the man squawked, lifting him up to get a better view at the shaking creature. “You owe me nothing. This will be your home if you choose but you owe me nothing for living here.”  
He paused for a moment before pulling a small green hat from one of the little projects he had started. “Besides,” he smiled at the little thing with an exasperated but loving smile, “You can always return to the forest. Hylia knows I'd help you get back.”  
But so he stayed and years passed and the man grew old. Each day harder to breath and to awaken but each day was a blessing. The willow grew tall and weeping and the telescope never collected dust. Each night he’d describe the stars to the little creature and each morning he’d drink tea on the little wooden bench he had found. The little creature sat on his shoulder, smiling sadly at the celosia flowers, bright pink and fluffed upwards in a flurry of excitement of life. A memory, one held dear to the heart yet could not remember.  
Instead the little creature would sit on his shoulder, arms wrapped around a thimble of something sweet smelling he could never quite place. Warm to the touch and vaguely apples.  
The old man would share tales of his own adventures. Painting lands with his words, places filled with such magic and sorrow. Crying plateaus and laughing skies and where the sun never set yet you could still meet the moon each midday and a million peoples you could never dream of existing.  
“Do you ever miss travelling?” was something often asked.  
“Yes,” the old man would respond, “But I'm happy where I am. You can get rid of me that fast you know.”  
The creature would laugh but never miss and faraway look in the old man’s eye, the longing to see the world as others couldn't and the little creature found himself a tad jealous at times. The brownie became mad for a time, avoiding him and hiding in shelves as he cried at the thought of losing him.  
The man never questioned why, patient for once in his long life as he tentatively left out things and still spoke of his adventures but instead telling stories of his plights in the small town and the people he would meet. He’d admit his frustration grew with the brownie, but hey, how can you help such a thing when your home goes silent.  
But the two realized they’re both idiots. The two laughed and laughed until the little thing almost fell off the table and the man barely caught him.  
The man would soon always hold out his hand and allow the little creature to read books from other lands he kept hidden from those visiting his home for research. He’d nothing to hide, not anymore. And that was enough for the little creature to understand the man.  
-=+=-  
It took quite a while for the world to do him in.  
The man laid in bed, breathing fitfully as he watched the little creature work away cleaning the lens of his telescope like it wasn’t already sparkling.  
“Why don’t you have a name?” the man finally asked. His voice was old and worn but still held the telltale edge of sass and spitfire. Embers dying in the rain.  
The creature looked at him with a bit of friendly suspicion, eyes gleaming in the low light. “I once did. But it died when I left the forest. Just never thought to get a new one.”  
“Well I think that every creature who starts a journey deserves one. The new tenants will need a name for a face, ay?” He sighed as he shifted to put down the book he was skimming before. The creature hummed in thought, grabbing onto the shut curtains and began pulling his way to the man, landing beside his head and settling in the small space between his neck and shoulder, curling into a ball as he shifted the man’s beard out of the way.  
“Four.”  
His head shot up to look at the man who smiled at the ceiling, lost in thought.  
“Stability, grounding, inner strength,” he whispered hoarsely, bright eyes sparkling as he turned and gazed down at his little brownie friend. “It's a lovely number though admittedly a strange name, but perfect for an even stranger little lad.”  
They lapsed into a quiet, the creature smiling so bright it could drown the sun and softly humming, a small one from his old home.  
“Do you miss it?” the man asked for the first time, turning back to the ceiling.  
“I used to, not much anymore.”  
“Tell me about it, then. One more story before my next journey. Waddya miss, kid?”  
The brownie thought for a long time, eyes closed tightly as he wished to remember the world he so loved and left.  
“I miss the trees. They’re so tall their fingers seem to scrape against the clouds. I miss the gentle tugs of life i guess, odd jobs that calmed me as i tried to remember things that i shouldn't. I miss the others, how they’d smile and sing and laugh and just ample through life. Makin kinstones was a fun little job, something to make others laugh and smile, ya know? The temples were so worn, but beautiful and dusty. Carvings and magic and a million things to see and find.  
“At night the sky is a sea, so different from here yet inherently the same. Stars are so bright it's like you're staring into the core of the sun itself, waiting for it to blow up and stop being the friendly light guiding you. The elements,” his voice cracked and he blinked back a tear. It was curious how the man talked so easily about everything. “The elements glowed at night. They’d bath the town and homes in light, sparking energy through the air that’d make the others happy.”  
He squinted and climbed onto the man’s chest, curling there instead as he listened to the pained breathing, slow and grinding.  
“I… I think I had a friend there. I just… she was so nice and happy. Like bubbly sunshine. She’d drag me into town even though…” he trailed off, grabbing onto the man’s shirt as he drew in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t a fan of crowds. She’d drag me to go to festivals and explore places but I don’t think she was supposed to. She was all I had besides... my grandfather? Yeah, my grandfather. He was an old coot if you could believe it. Older than you I think. He smiled so nicely though. I don’t remember it, I just, don’t.”  
The man didn’t comment, just smiled knowingly. The brownie didn’t notice, absorbed in his own little world.  
“Hunters came. I know that. I know I know that. The brownies gave me the elements, but they’re cursed. I think so at least. Can’t really tell to be honest, maybe they always react like that.”  
“And that bit you all in the ass?”  
“Nipped out tails clean off I tell yah,” he grinned shakily.  
His throat felt dry. He had never spoken so much. “So I took them and it nipped my tail. I ran and ran until I met this muddy fairy and we both decided that we should explore the forest together. And so we found this weird guy who owns the forest and he told the worst jokes! Anyway he hid the elements and ya would never guess where.”  
“In a cave,” he coughed violently before resuming in a shaky voice, “people always pick caves for cursed things. Never know why.”  
“You’d think but actually…”  
They both drifted off into the story, the man falling asleep as they tapered off into quiet understanding. The brownie clutched the man’s shirt, sighing softly into the quiet night, only a storm to be heard. Thunder against the patter on the roof. Wind howling like beasts awaiting a hunt.  
But warmth and contentment was what he felt. Whole. Wholly melancholy but still together in the end. It was the end of the beginning he noted.  
The man’s hand opened limply after a time, a bright red hat oh so small falling to his chest. New and carefully sown by untrained hands that had worked too hard to learn out of love rather than necessity. A symbol of freedom. A symbol of life. With a smile he shuffled to grab it, holding it tightly to his chest.  
“ad nan ikus, Ezlo,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and drifting to sleep.  
-=+=-  
“Twi!? Hey TWI! You in here?!”  
He entered the warm house, box in hand as he gazed about the small living room. Scattered books and dust free. It smelt of rainwater and fresh air with a hint of apples and cinnamon. He had expected it to be stuffy, a real old person’s home but instead it was just… free?  
“Man they really kept everything didn’t they?” A tall man entered from the back, clutching a set of keys. “There's a locked backroom by the way, keys won’t work. I think it's magic. Basement is unlocked though so that's a plus..”  
His companion hummed, setting the box down as he gazed at the decorations across the walls. Diagrams and pictures of faraway places. A shield caught his eye, small but crested with a triforce and winged beast as branches seemed to crawl up it on the sides. Old and worn, scratched.  
“I wonder what it stood for,” He hummed, tracing a finger over the gleaming surface. Shields inherently had a meaning, especially ones that held its own special magic like this one.  
“Companionship and love,” a soft voice said behind him. So quiet it was barely a sad whisper in the quiet room. They turned to see a small creature staring at them with wide eyes, feather tail clutched in hand. He smiled brightly at them. “Uoyaho, It's a pleasure to meet y’all. Names Four!”  
“Holy shit, holy shit HOLY SHIT. TWI WE GOT A BROWNIE!”  
“Oh rad I love food.”  
“TWI NO!”  
“TWI YES.”  


**Author's Note:**

> We got that minish on fleek:  
> ad nan ikus - dont you know how much i love you?  
> uoyaho -goodmorning
> 
> Sorry i'm writing a story that requires a lot of minish so i got a whole document of minish and its slowly growing.  
> FUN FACT: 'useduniem aniket-nohik aw atana' means 'you are a basic bitch'.  
> Alright, so you're abotu to get learned on Brownie lore! In some folklore, brownies are actually spirits or dead people, which is SO much fun. So like, can we have that happening? maybe? IDK i just started on that train and wanted Ezlo in on it so this exists.  
> For minish lore i made up that their hats dictate i guess a certain honor in society? like you have one and it shows you are free and are workign out of yoru own free will? i guess? Also in brownie lore its hella bad to give away an article of clothing because its disrespectufl and you are either calling them a) ugly, b) poor, or c) that they are better than where they are working so like, four learned to accept gifts from others? The hat in the end is very much so symoblism??  
> Hyrule is just hanging out living his best life TBH. I love him.
> 
> sorry if theres typos and or non capitalized things, the note program i was using to rewrite it didn't automatically capitalize things.
> 
> Thank for reading!


End file.
